The Soliloquy of a Genius
by KricketWilliams
Summary: Spencer Reid is having the worst day of his life, made even more terrible by haunting memories of another agent that won't let him go. For the CCOAC "Death Fic" challenge-Character Death. I don't own a thing.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I hope I am not too late in posting this...I was assigned by T and T (The "Dynamite Twins") and Yeogsa (Korean for "Hx") the task of killing Dr. Reid...Medical professional that I am, the Hippocratic oath comes to mind and causes me distress (Just teasing!)...Warning: I went a little kinky and offbeat, considering the topic, so if that isn't your cuppa, I apologize in advance...This story is before Maeve, shortly after Prentiss leaves the BAU...

* * *

_**The Soliloquy of a Genius**_

There are mornings when a man wakes up and realizes very shortly that it is not going to be his day. Maybe he rolls over in bed and gets a Charley horse in his hamstring and then, in the process of trying to stretch out said hamstring, knots himself unbearably in his comforter. While trying to disentangle himself from the mummy-like wrapping an early seventh-century B.C. Pharaoh would be envious of, he falls out of bed and cracks his head on the edge of his nightstand, giving him a lump the size of the offspring of a _Branta canadenis_.

Perhaps then, with his aching skull, he rises and heads to his bathroom to retrieve a bottle of acetyl salacitic acid from his designated medication chest. Taking two out of the bottle, the recommended dosage by the good people of Bayer©, he places them in his mouth and then reaches for his water cup. Just as he is about to fill the cup, he looks and finds a hideously atrocious dead bug, lying ventral side up in the bottom.

With the acrid taste of melting aspirin in his mouth, he wanders into the kitchen as quickly as his long, slender legs can carry him. He rushes to his sink and turns on the water, cups his hand, and drinks from the tap like a vagabond that had wandered the desert for years and finally reached an Oasis. Drinking his fill, he then rinses his mouth and spits into a sink that is rapidly backing up with sewage.

Today is that day for me. In fact, that was my morning. October ninth.

I don't mean to be overly somber or dramatic, but the last few months, things have not been going my way. I've had far too much time to contemplate things on my own, too much time to think, analyze, deliberate, consider, and evaluate my life.

I don't like what I see.

Perhaps it's because my birthday is approaching rapidly, like the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. Every year, I compare myself to others that graduated with me, their achievements and accomplishments, and I find myself lacking. I haven't cured any diseases. I haven't invented anything remarkable. I haven't made a fortune and purchased the sanitarium my mother lives in.

Instead, I am a near thirty-one-year-old single man who has done little as far as true advancements and has even less to show for personal experience. I have no one I am dating. I have no prospects. Instead, I am hopelessly in love with my former coworker...and I've never even told her.

Emily.

The thought of her makes me smile—one of the few things that does. Her raven hair. Her saucy attitude. Her indomitable spirit. She's beautiful, but that is only a part of who she is. She has the ability to both nurture and tease, to irritate my mind and to soothe my spirit.

She's the only one I could truly share with. I found myself telling things to Emily I wouldn't dream of telling anyone else. My fears, my hopes...even my desires.

Oh, God...my desires. Closing my eyes, I thought back...and remembered...

She'd been joking, that first time she'd asked me about what I'd craved. Morgan, Garcia, Emily, Emily's lover, and myself had been at a bar, having a few drinks. I'd been interested in her, her company mattering more to me than my pride, so it didn't matter who she'd brought along. Dirk, Emily's lover at the time, had excused himself when the shop talk had been too much, and miracles of miracles, Emily had stayed behind to talk with me. Talk had turned to eroticism, which wasn't too uncommon with the group that had remained. I didn't have much experience, but I liked to listen...even if I didn't tell them that.

"_Gonna spank me, handsome?" Garcia teased Morgan._

_Morgan leaned closer and growled at his "baby girl", "I think that can be arranged..."_

"_How about you, Reid?" Emily asked out of the blue. "You like a good spanking?"_

_For a moment, I'd been transfixed. I'd speed read through that trashy "Fifty Shades" book—admittedly, a little slower through some parts—and really...I'd been curious. More than I wanted to admit to myself, or to anyone sitting at the table. _

_At first, there'd been a joking look on Emily's face, but I'd taken too long to answer, and she was far too astute to let it slide. Now, there was genuine curiosity on the face of the ebony-haired beauty sitting across from me. I knew she wanted an answer, but I didn't know how to phrase my reply. I didn't know if I really knew what my reply would be._

_But deep down...I did._

_As I looked into her sincere, dark chocolate eyes, I felt myself opening up. I wanted to tell her, and I knew I'd be safe if I did. Morgan and Garcia were far too into each other to care about my answer, although one or both might have teased me relentlessly if they overheard, and I really wanted to continue being honest with Prentiss. We'd always been honest with each other._

_So I took a deep breath, and I prepared myself mentally and physically._

"_I don't know. I've never tried it," I answered honestly._

_Emily's perfectly arched brows rose, but only a millimeter. She picked up her drink, the ice cubes glinting in the bar lights as she swirled it. "Sounds like you're interested."_

_I took another deep, steadying breath. "I might be."_

_Prentiss took a sip of her drink, slowly, trying to remain cool and hide her discomfiture. That technique might have worked on Dirk, but not on me. I catch even the slightest nuances in behavior—it's my job. _

_By the time she put her glass down, she regained her composure, and the cool, unswayed Emily returned._

"_So, you want to spank a girl?" she teased, the corner of her mouth rising. "Kinky kinky."_

_She was diverting the conversation with humor, but something inside me made me want to answer, get it out in the open. Almost more than I needed air to breathe._

_I shook my head. "Not quite."_

_One brow rose this time in question. "You don't want to spank a girl, but you still want to experience spanking?"_

_My heart was pounding in my chest as my chin dropped in just the slightest nod of acquiesce, and as I did it, that was exactly what I wanted. _

_I don't think I'd even known until that moment...and who I wanted it with._

_Emily's huge brown eyes widened with pure shock she didn't bother to hide this time. "Oh..."_

_As she stared at me, my will disintegrated. Dear God, what had I been thinking? What kind of sick craving had I admitted to? Out in the open? To a girl I have a crush on? _

_Embarrassment and shame flooded me, and I stared morosely at my beer that I had gripped tightly in my hands. I didn't want to see her, or look in her eyes to see the disgust that surely—_

_Suddenly, her hand came in to cover mine. Her nails were dark, the color of Merlot wine. They were beautiful, powerful, in command just like she was._

"_I think I that can be arranged..." she replied, in the same tone Morgan had used to Garcia._

_My eyes flew to hers and I saw a heat I hadn't seen before, and immediately, my groin grew heavy with lust._

I shake my head and slam my palm against my desk. It didn't do any good to remember. She was gone. For three months. I'd let her go. She'd been looking for reasons to stay, and I couldn't say what I felt. Why did the memories, so fresh and real, have to haunt me? Even now, I can feel the tenderness of her touch, the exquisite pleasure-pain that rocks my soul. I am tortured far more now that I was addicted to drugs.

Her touch is the true drug for me.

Rising from my desk, I grab my satchel and throw it over my shoulders. I head out the BAU doors without a word to anyone and head to the streets. I'm not thinking as I cross the street, not listening. I only see the "don't walk" sign beginning to flash. I have plenty of time.

A fast-moving car approaches me. I look up and my heart leaps into my throat.

My last thought is of her...

* * *

I wake in what feels like my bed. I thought clouds in heaven would feel softer and would smell less like faded Downy© fabric softener. I roll over and immediately get a Charley horse. The pain is incredible. I didn't think there was pain in Heaven!

Oh, God...did I go to the other place?

I open my eyes slowly and notice the familiar surroundings of my room. I am wrapped, like a mummy, in my comforter, and the stretching was making the knots worse. I glance at my alarm clock. October ninth. I roll over carefully, falling out of bed, but avoiding hitting my head again, and shuffle out of my comforter and run to the living room. I turn on the TV, and Matt Lauer's program states it is October ninth.

I sit on my couch and stare at the television set in utter disbelief.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Thank you so much for the reviews...Here's chapter two! Strange little story-but it turns out good. Trust me._

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**Chapter 2**

This cannot be happening. I'm finding it hard to breathe, and my stomach is still in knots. I look down at my arms and see goose flesh as my erector pilli go completely crazy with what I'm feeling. I am feeling...I'm feeling...

Crazy.

No way. I'm not reliving the same day over again. There has to be a logical reason for what's happening. Scientific studies have shown some people have a great sense of déjà vu, the feeling that they'd been some place, or had done something, before. Perhaps that was what was happening to me? An enhanced version of déjà vu.

No one's déjà vu was ever an entire day, ending with their own demise, but...

I shake my head. This is bizarre enough to lay aside science for a moment. Maybe fancy can give me a hint? Charles Dickens wrote in "A Christmas Carol" about a man seeing his past, present, and future. He saw everything, including his impending death.

Of course, I don't have three ghosts joining me on my journey...

The back of my leg twinges with the remnants of my Charley horse, and I start to rub it. That's the same. The smell in my apartment—a slightly sulfuric smell of rotten egg I've mostly ignored and now know is backed up pipes in the building—wafts in the air. And now, as I sit on my couch, bewildered, befuddled, and befogged, I realize something else is the same as yesterday.

My head aches.

That seems strange to me. There's no good reason, no rational motive, that it should hurt. I hadn't smacked it against the nightstand falling out of bed yesterday, but it still smarts, feeling aggravatingly sore. It makes it hard to think, and thinking is what I do best.

Speaking of thinking...it isn't yesterday, is it? It's today.

Again.

The goose flesh on my arms spreads to my shoulders, up my neck, and down my back as fear grips me again. I am a man of science, but I still believe in a higher power. I'm not beyond praying.

Dear God, what is going on?

My headache starts pounding. Slowly, I make my way to my medicine cabinet and withdraw the medication from the good people of Bayer© again, and this time, I don't put them in my mouth. Lo and behold, the same, disgusting, shriveled bug is in the bottom of my water glass, the jointed legs facing upward at me.

Stomach roiling, I stumble my way to my icebox to get a carton of orange juice. I'm not going to turn on my water. I learned from my mistakes. I pop the pills in my mouth and guzzle the drink directly from the container. A second later, I burp loudly from the amount of air I took in with the orange juice.

At that moment, Emily comes to my mind again. She would've laughed and been proud of me. She'd told me I needed to loosen up, relax, and be less rigid.

"Reid. Stop caring about what others think," she'd said. "Go ahead and scratch yourself if something needs itching."

Emily was one of a kind. She'd worked hard to earn respect in a male-dominated field that few could breach. In the BAU team, she'd been "one of the guys," just as tough and hard as we all were—sometimes even tougher. I can't help but smile; none of us guys are unaware of how feminine she really was. She was lovely, and what she had to fill dark, government-issue pants and kevlar vests—

I frown. I can't spend the day thinking about Emily Prentiss again. I did that yest—err...once before. I can't do it again.

Look how that turned out...

* * *

I arrive at the BAU just as I did in my déjà vu state, at the exact same time. I go to my desk, lower my European shoulder satchel—or as Em called it, my "man purse"—and put it in my drawer. I'm early, like usual, and there's no one to talk to.

I should've waited and come in later. I need to tell someone what happened. My headache's back, my stomach's aching, and I'm starting to think my goose bumps are so permanent, they'll soon sprout feathers.

Sighing, I put my head in my hands. It's for the best no one's there. They probably wouldn't believe me.

To tell the truth, _I_ don't believe me.

A little voice in my head speaks to me quietly, a bone-deep truth: _Emily would've believed you._

I take a deep breath and can picture her face, earnest, intelligent brown eyes staring at me with knowing and compassion. Her hand would've touched mine, held it. She got it. She understood. I was alone for many years growing up. So was she. I was forced to grow up young. So was she. Deep down, we were kindred spirits.

God, I miss her.

Trying to break the mental grasp thoughts of Emily have on me, I glance up at the clock and immediately start sweating. In fifteen minutes, it will be the same time I di—err, attempted to cross the street. Wisely, I am staying away from traffic at that time.

I'm not even going outdoors. Why tempt fate?

However, I can't stay seated at my desk. The need to run, to escape, rolls over me. I look everywhere and see a dull light emanating from under a door. Garcia's lair! It's early... Is she there?

Quickly, I hurry down the hall to her office and knock on the door.

"One second!" she calls out cheerfully in a chipper way that only Garcia can muster.

I hear some shuffling, and then she opens the door. She looks slightly out of breath, a big grin on her face, her cheeks pink, the purple bow just slightly askew on the top of her head.

Behind her stands Morgan, looking far less perky, a hand placed possessively on Garcia's shoulder.

"Boy wonder," she says, still smiling. "What are you doing here so early?"

I could've asked the same thing of her, just to see her blush more, but I don't. Snark isn't my style.

"Baby, he's always here this early," Morgan answers, and then he manages a smile for me. "Hey, kid."

"Oh," Garcia replies, and then her eyes grow wide and excited. "Ooh! Derek and I stopped for coffee, and I brought treats this morning!"

My stomach's still sore; maybe something to eat will help. "What did you bring?"

With a flourish, she opens the bag to me. "Bagels! Have one, sweet genius!"

Reaching in the bag, I withdraw a bagel, and then I smile back at her. "Thanks, Garcia."

I take a bite of the savory bagel and start to chew. It's tasty...kind of nutty.

"There's cream cheese, too," Morgan says with a grin.

"Thanks," I say, and I cough a little. My throat's itchy, feeling weird.

"You have a mega gargantuan amount of choices." Garcia starts unpacking her bag. "There's honey walnut, blueberry, banana mango, pineapple..."

_Pineapple. Emily's favorite._

"Strawberry currant, bacon—eww, flesh eaters—chocolate, and of course, plain."

"Sounds—" I pause to cough "—great."

"And then there are the bagels. There's blueberry, everything, egg, cheese..."

Halfway through Garcia's litany of bagels, I feel my throat closing. It's getting very, very hard to breathe. I wave my arms, but they're both facing the bags, unloading the goodies they'd brought.

On a slightly morbid whim, I look at the clock.

Five minutes until I'd...crossed the street.

"I think it's chocolate for me."

"You got it, Hot Stuff," Penelope coos, and then says to me, "Reid, what about—Oh my God, Derek!"

Just before I hit the floor, I think, _Emily would've taken a blueberry bagel with her pineapple cream cheese. It was a perfect match..._

* * *

The alarm rings...the Charley horse begins...and at that moment, I know my personal hell is starting all over again.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone! Poor Reid...he needs to catch a break...

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**Chapter 3**

My alarm is still ringing as I stare at it in dismay. This day...this hideous, endless, miserable October ninth. The worst day of my life. The last day of my life. It's killing me...only to torture me again.

I feel like I'm going insane—and I've had enough flirtations with that genetic possibility in my life.

Running hands through my too shaggy hair, I exhale all my breath, and I come to a conclusion: I can't let this happen again.

This time, I am going to be as safe as possible. I am not taking any risks, nothing that could even _remotely_ be considered a peril. I am going to live through this day, and I will rejoice with the coming of October tenth.

Very carefully, I unravel myself from my comforter and fastidiously shut my alarm clock off. My head is already aching, but I know how to handle this and avoid disaster. Walking to the bathroom, I reach for my aspirin after I say hello to the disgusting dead bug that's in my glass, and then I make it to the fridge for my orange juice.

With that cautiously taken care of, I walk slowly to my couch and sit in my usual spot. Once the area is secure, I reach for my cellular phone and dial my boss.

I'm taking no chances.

"Hotchner," the voice on the end of the line states clearly, without preamble or greeting. There is a businesslike efficiency to Hotch's style of answering the telephone, yet I know he'll take the time to listen if I want to tell him what's happening.

"Um...Hotch, it's Reid," I begin. I haven't called in sick in seven years. It feels foreign to me.

"Reid. Is something the matter?"

I smile to myself. Hotch's tone hasn't changed much, but the compassion and concern are evident. "Not really. I'm just not feeling like myself today."

"Are you ill?"

"Well...not exactly." I rub the back of my neck. I hate this; truancy is not in my nature. "It's hard to explain."

"Something you need to talk about?"

I shake my head, although I know he can't see me. "No. Not right now. I..."

For a moment, I debate with myself, but I realize I don't want to talk about this. Not to Hotch or anyone.

After a long moment of silence, Hotch states firmly but gently, "Take all the time you need. We'll talk when you get back."

I can't hold back my sigh of relief. "Thanks, Hotch."

"You're welcome, Reid."

I don't know how long I sit there, holding my cell phone up to my ear. The call ended long ago. I realize a part of me wants to just stay on the phone with him—sane, steady Aaron Hotchner—until this day is over. There's a stability with Hotch that is unprecedented with any other team member. He's the leader; he always knows what to say, when to say it, what to do. He'd know what to do in this situation.

_Emily would know, too_...

Smiling as I reach down to rub the aching hamstring where the Charley horse had been, I think about Emily. She would've been proud that I've taken a day off. She'd ridden me in the past about needing time for myself, and although these circumstances are not ideal, the result is the same.

"Everyone needs 'me' time, Spence," she'd said as she looped her long leg over mine.

Closing my eyes, I can still feel the smoothness of her skin, her calf brushing against mine, tickling the hairs on my shin. Her painted toes would brush mine, too, as she stretched her leg out. Funny that her toes were always ten degrees colder than mine, regardless of the fact we had the same amount of covers on. Her internal thermostat was lower than mine—but I loved to keep her warm.

My heart feels achy, sore in my chest, and when I open my eyes, my vision is blurry. Why I continue to torture myself over something that isn't going to be...

I blink and then begin to panic as I focus on my clock. Ten minutes away. Fight or flight mode kicks in, and the overwhelming desire to get out of my humble abode roars in my mind. My panic rises and my heart starts beating rapidly.

Nine minutes, thirty seconds.

I'm sweating profusely, like someone wearing a snowsuit in a sauna, and it becomes harder to breathe.

Nine minutes, fifteen seconds.

Dear God, if I keep feeling this way, I'm going to die of a heart attack sitting on my couch. I can't stay in here. I don't want to die, not like this...sweaty and sad and alone.

Jumping to my feet, I open my apartment door and run into the hallway. I gasp for breath, feeling the cool air fill my lungs.

"Spencer, are you okay?" a decrepit little voice says to me. I turn to see Edith Bankhead, my next door neighboor. She is a septuagenarian, but she looks much older than her seventy-five years. Edith is smiling, but her large labradoodle, Mitzy, is looking at me with disdain. Dogs do not like me for some reason.

I wipe my sweaty forehead and force a smile. "Yes, Mrs. Bankhead. Thank you."

"Spencer, dear, can I trouble you?" Edith asks, her warm brown eyes glowing. "With these sewer pipe repairs, the elevator is broken. I have these bags for Mr. Carlisle on the sixth floor, and I can't deliver them and tend to Mitzy, too." She holds up her leash and shakes her head in disapproval. "Can you carry them up a few flights for me?"

"Of course," I say, grabbing the three bags. Although it is a five-flight climb, I would never turn a senior citizen down.

"Mr. Carlilse had back surgery," she explains in a stage whisper.

"Oh," I answer, not really listening as I trudge up the stairs.

"I got him rocky road ice cream," she says happily. "It's his favorite."

_That was Emily's favorite, too._

Walking down the hall, past the elevator, we finally reach Mr. Carlisle's door. I place the bags on the floor. I'm sweating again, but it's a good sweat.

"Thank you, Spencer, dear," Edith says nicely as she knocks on the Carlisle residence entry.

"No problem, Mrs. Bankhead," I reply, tipping an imaginary hat as I turn and start to the staircase. I notice the elevator door is partially open—

"Meoooooooooow!" a cat screeches as it sails by me, spinning me in my place and making me off balance.

"Woof woof woof!" Mitzy calls out, just before she rushes me, her leash slapping against my leg and her large body bulldozing me.

I stumble, the elevator door dings and then opens...to an empty abyss.

This time, I don't even bother with checking my watch. I'm pretty sure I know what time it is.

As I fall down the dark elevator shaft, the thought occurs to me: _That cat looked a lot like Emily's cat, Sergio_...


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: Thanks so much for the reviews...Surprise! Posting two days in a row :)_

* * *

**Chapter 4**

As my alarm goes off, I immediately realize a few things. I'm in my bed. My Charley horse is galloping painfully in my hamstring. My comforter is suffocating me. My head is aching like I'd attempted to out-drink a bunch of rowdy frat boys.

It's obviously October ninth. It's happening again. This time, I'm not even flinching.

I start carefully unraveling myself from my blankets, ignoring the searing pain from my head and leg. Although I desperately want to halt reliving the same day, I do want to keep living. I move slowly, hoping not to upset the apple cart of my futile existence with any rash movements.

A thought crosses my mind, one that lacks logic or reason: maybe I _should_ switch things up? Being safe and reasonable killed me in my own home and at work doing what I always do. Maybe I really need to cut loose, be daring and adventurous? If I die saving someone or having done something spectacular, perhaps I can at least have some peace with what is happening.

No one wants "killed by a bagel" in their eulogy.

"Sometimes you have to be bold, Reid," Emily had said. "Grab life by both hands and hold on tight..."

Em loved to tease me about my tendencies to sit back and observe instead of participate. She thought I was too timid, but that wasn't really true. I'm a scholar; I study whenever possible. I'm not a coward. Even for a naturally submissive man, I do stand my ground when I need to. Fighting for the underdog, or for someone I care about, I do whatever it takes.

Hmm. Maybe right now, I need to fight for me?

That fight was going to start with telling someone about this. Someone wise who's had a lot of life experiences and a small amount of belief in mysticism, unexplainable things, like the evil eye and karma.

David Rossi.

Jumping out of bed—and bumping my shin against the nightstand—I divest of my pajamas and tug on my jeans and a Dr. Who T-shirt I had on top of my laundry pile. I grab the first pair of socks that I can find—I'm rather relieved they're mismatched—and pull them on.

Quickly, I make it to the bathroom and reach for my aspirin. Before I leave the bathroom, I say, "Hi, Herman."

That's the dead bug in my glass. He's almost family now.

I grab the carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator and take it with me out my front door, gulping the down the pills and then tossing the remainder of the juice in the receptacle outside my complex door. I rush to my car and head to work as quickly as I legally can.

Maybe even a touch illegally...

* * *

"Son, you look like hell."

Rossi's greeting isn't unexpected, and I'm not offended. He calls things the way he sees them, and I'm pretty sure I do look like hell.

"Thanks," I answer. "I feel like hell."

Dave's dark, omnipresent eyes are staring me down, and I can understand why many an unsub has given up their secrets to that look. There's something about his look that says he sees more I know, and it's rather terrifying and relieving at the same time for me.

A moment later, Dave gives a low whistle. "Whatever happened must've been a doozy." He gestures to one of the leather seats in his office, fine Italian leather he'd paid for with his own funds. "Sit down, Reid. Tell me what's going on."

I take a deep breath, dig my fingers into the buttery leather of Rossi's chair, and brace myself to come clean...be bold.

"Rossi, do you believe in deja vu?"

He nods. "Absolutely."

"Reincarnation?" I test...gently.

He shrugs. "The prospect of reincarnation has been around since before ancient Egypt. I don't exactly subscribe to the notion, but I'm not one to buck the thoughts of civilization that have been around far longer than I have." He pauses and narrows his eyes at me. "No age cracks, kid."

I smile slightly, and tell a fib, "The thought hadn't even crossed my mind."

Dave grunts in reply, which tells me I hadn't fooled him for a second.

"How about reliving the same day over and over?" I blurt out. Stress sweat begins to coat my palms as I nervously sit waiting for his response. I'm pretty certain he will be calling for the medics for me by the time this conversation is finished. I don't think it's going to be favorable in the slightest.

What he says makes no sense to me at all.

"Oh, like _Groundhog's Day_?"

I frown. What does a rodent who "detects" weather patterns have to do with this? "_Groundhog's Day_?"

Rossi smiles. "Yes. That movie with Bill Murray years ago...and Sigourney Weaver, I think?" He pauses for a second, stroking his goatee in thought, and then he grins. "No, it was Andie MacDowell."

"A movie?" I whisper, unable to shake my shock.

"Yes," he says. "Bill Murray kept reliving the same day over and over, until finally he did something right, made amends for his life, and proceeded on in a cheesy happy ending."

A chill runs down my spine. What amends do I have to make? I can't think of anyone I had wronged. Lately, the only one who has been wronged is _me_.

Will I get my own happy ending?

Rossi is continuing to talk about the movie, but I'm not listening. My heart is pounding too loud to concentrate.

"And then...haha," Dave says, chuckling loudly. He wipes tears from his eyes. "Anyway, I won't give it all away. Funny movie. You should see it."

"No, thank you. I'm living it," I mutter under my breath.

"What was that?" Rossi asks.

"Nothing," I answer.

"Reid, what did you have to ask me?" Rossi questions, still smiling.

"Oh, never mind," I say, rushing to my feet.

The corner of his mouth quirks. "Okay. But my door is always open."

"Thanks." As I head toward that open door, I stop and turn. "Rossi?"

Rossi looks up from his paperwork. "Yes, son?"

_Might as well start somewhere._ "If I've ever done anything to offend you, I'm sorry."

Rossi's smile is sincere and warm. "Believe me, kid... If you offended me, you'd know."

I smile, too, the first time I'd really smiled in what feels like days. "Thanks."

Heading down the hallway, that overwhelming urge to leave, to reach the outdoors, hits me again. I'm not going to outsisde, but I head down to the lobby, find a secluded area away from everyone else, and remove my cell phone.

I dial my mother.

"Hi, Mom," I begin, my throat feeling constricted, but this time, it's with tears.

"Spencer," she says, sounding surprised. "What are you doing, calling during school? Your teachers will not be pleased."

Mom's medicines must not be working correctly. She reverts time when that happens. "It's okay, Mom. I...got a pass."

"Good, good," she says. "I don't want to keep you from your studies, so I should go."

Panic rushes through me. "No, wait!"

"Spencer, what is wrong?" she asks, the care in her voice bringing tears to my eyes.

"Nothing," I murmur, my voice barely louder than a whisper. "I...just wanted to hear your voice, and...and..."

I can't do it. I can't say the words that need to be said. That I'm sorry I can't care for her, sorry I can't visit as often as I need to, sorry—

"Spencer."

Her tone is firm, calm, clear, and it demands to be answered.

"Yes, Mom."

"You're a good boy, son. You do the best with what you've been dealt, and in a town like Las Vegas, the hand isn't always fair," she says softly. "Just know that I'm proud of you and I love you."

I don't stop the tears that fall. "Thanks, Mom. I love you, too."

"Now get to class before there's trouble," she says. "I have my own classes to teach now."

"Yes, Mom."

She clears her throat, and I know what's coming. "Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow."

I don't hear a hang up. I know she'd expect the next line before she exits the call. With a smile and a heart filled with love, I continue the line from _Romeo and Juliet_.

"Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast. Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest."

After I hear the click from her ending the call, I close the phone and check the time. It's thirty seconds away from my time. I haven't made true amends, I haven't made changes, I haven't done anything from Rossi's stupid movie, but I do feel somewhat better—

"Watch out!" someone calls out.

I look upward, and a large chandelier is careening toward me. I try to dive away, but my foot is stuck.

I hadn't noticed a wet floor/construction sign.

Just before the chandelier makes contact, I wonder if Emily saw that movie, too...


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Thanks so much for the reviews...Here comes the next chapter! Enjoy!

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**Chapter 5**

My alarm goes off, and this time, I don't even bother shutting it off. Instead, I sit up, ignoring my protesting, aching quadriceps muscle. I then proceed to rip the clock, cord and all, from the socket and toss it against the farthest wall I could reach. It crashes rather loudly and splinters into multiple smithereens. It made a mess, but I don't care. I actually smile, just before I lie back down and let the Charley horse finish its canter in my leg.

I'm surrounded by my comforter, another blanket, and my pillow. I love my pillow. It's extremely soft, made from hypoallergenic down and Egyptian cotton. I'd been having a hard time sleeping, but this pillow makes all the difference in the world. It was given to me as a gift last Christmas from Emily, a long time before we'd made...made...

I can't say the word. We didn't call it that. We didn't say much of anything; our bodies talked for us. We'd called it playtime. We'd be at work, innocently researching or heading to a crime scene, and suddenly, she'd look at me. She would smile at me in a come-hither fashion and say, "Reid...I could use some playtime. Can you come out and play?"

For me, though, it was far more than just play. It was fun, rewarding, satisfying on a soul-deep level. It didn't matter if we'd been apart for a week or a day, I was always ready for some playtime.

I stretch and reach for my cell phone. I'm going to be late this morning, because I am not going to rush anything anymore. I think I'll even ride in with JJ—I'd love to see her, catch up on news about my godson, and she's the only teammate I haven't spoken to since this bizarre ritual has been happening. We have plenty of time; she is always the last to arrive in the morning. Will has to be in earlier for his squad, so JJ does the drop off at the sitter with Henry. She comes in around eight a.m.

Eight a.m. An hour and fifteen minutes before I...cross the street...fall down the shaft...eat the bagel...

Die.

Sonofabitch.

I yawn, and my head is just beginning to ache as I dial Jayje.

"Spencer?" she groans.

Flinching, I realize it's barely six. That's immeasurably early for JJ.

"Um...hi, JJ," I say quickly.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"N-Nothing," I stammer, and then I take a deep breath and calm myself. "Nothing, really. I'm okay."

I hear her yawn, and then she mumbles, "Sorry, Spence. I was up late talking to Emily."

"In London?" I squeak.

"No, Spence. She flew in to New York last night," she says. "She's going to be at the UN today. She's at a security council meeting."

My heart is pounding and I can barely catch a breath, but I feel truly alive. More alive than I have in months. "What time?"

"I don't know. She was going to be there all day, I think, and—"

"I gotta go."

Ticket. I need a ticket. Now. I look at my phone, but I know that the chances of me getting a flight to New York are dismal and slight.

Garcia.

I know where she is from the previous incarnation of this day, and I know that I will probably be interrupting something she and Morgan shouldn't be doing at work in the first place. Why were they there so early anyway? Ignoring any diverting thoughts, I dial the emergency line in her lair. It takes five rings, but she picks up.

"Whomever this is, this better be good," she says in a grouchy tone...not that I can blame her for it.

"Penelope, it's Spencer. I need a ticket to New York on the fastest flight out of the Quantico area."

"Reid, what's going on?" she asks, suddenly all business as I hear her nails tapping on the keyboard. "Why a flight? What's happening?"

"Because..." I pause for a second, and then I smile. "Because I have to tell a girl I love her and I don't want her to go."

There. I said it. I love her. I love Emily Prentiss, and I'm not hiding that fact from anyone anymore. Not my team, my family, Emily, or myself.

"Awwwww!" Garcia gushes. "My sweet heap of gray matter, I have you booked on Delta, departing at nine fifteen from Dulles. Itinerary is sent to your phone."

"Wow. You're a marvel, Garcia."

"It's what I do," she says in a sing-song voice. She clears her throat. "Ah, Reid?"

"Yes?"

"Would this happen to be for a certain raven-haired ex-BAU agent who never should've exed?"

I blink and then answer honestly. "Yes. Yes, it is."

She squeals happily, and I hear Morgan saying some form of _I told you_ so in the background.

"Go get her, kid," Morgan calls out.

"Ditto what he said," Garcia says, "and good luck, Reid."

"Thanks, Garcia."

"Thank Derek," she says. "He handed me his credit card for your flight."

"Thanks, Mor—"

"No thanking me," Morgan interrupted. "Just get your slow ass on that plane!"

* * *

I've never driven so fast in my life. I've made it to Dulles from Quantico in forty minutes, breaking a few land speed records on the way. At the terminal, I'd printed my ticket for my ninety-minute flight, and now I am waiting to board the plane.

I'm sweating, I'm nervous, but I'm excited. This is it. Everything is different. I feel sure of myself. This has to be right.

Even my headache is gone.

The loud speaker calls out, "Flight 340 to New York City now boarding at Gate G1. Passengers with children and priority boarding first."

I feel like jumping forward in line—telling someone you loved them should count as priority.

I wait nervously as the next rows are called, and then my row is called. I depart down the jetway, heading to the plane, and then find my seat next to an older businessman who is busily tapping away on his laptop.

I buckle in and wait patiently for everyone else to board. My anxiety level is through the roof, but I fight it back. I even feel a little woozy, but I can't pass out. I refuse to pass out.

An eon later, the flight attendants close the door to the plane, the businessman puts away his laptop, and we're starting to move. I check my watch: it's nine thirteen.

I close my eyes and begin to pray. _Please God. Not now. Not when I'm so close_.

"First flight?" the businessman asks.

That is almost laughable. "No. Actually, I have to fly weekly for a living."

The man cocks his head quizzically. "Why so nervous, then?"

"I'm meeting a girl," I answer honestly. "I'm telling her I love her."

"Is she the right girl?" he asks.

"Yes."

I answered rapidly, but my heart answered for me far faster than my mouth.

Yes, yes...a thousand times yes!

The man smiles brilliantly. "Then, son, you have nothing to be nervous about."

I smile as I feel a peace roll over me. The plane begins to gain momentum as the flight attendants begin their safety spiel.

I glance at my watch: It's nine twenty and the plane is not the only thing that's flying high.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Thanks so much for the reviews! One last chapter after this one. So here we go...

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**Chapter 6**

Here I am, in bed, on the brink of consciousness. I'm a little afraid to open my eyes, thinking the last few hours hadn't happened, and it is going to be October ninth again.

And then a long, warm, smooth leg curls over my thigh, followed by a manicured hand in the center of my chest. She scratches lightly with her fingertip, directly over my heart. That is perfectly fine with me; she owns it, she can mark it.

Wow. It's October tenth. I can barely believe it. I'd gone on the flight, I'd marched myself to the United Nations—where I had to wait outside the entry for hours—and, most of all...

I'd found Emily.

A moment later, the hand on my chest begins it's descent downward, over my nearly hairless abdomen... and farther.

"You can't fake sleepiness with me, Reid," she purrs, and I think about how her voice sounds perfect to my ears, musical and soothing. I'd missed that voice, and everything attached to it, more than I'd miss my own life.

I begin to smile, but I keep my eyes closed. I'm reliving my memories for a moment...

_A throng of people exit the main doorways to the courtyard just outside of the door. Hundreds of people, all in a rush to get somewhere. I look everywhere, seeing so many dark-haired women in dark suits, and my heart leaps to my throat. I'm sweating, so afraid I'm going to miss her in the masses. She's so small, and-_

"_Emily!" _

_I see her and shout. She's talking to three other people, heading in the opposite direction of where I'm standing. _

_I start to push my way through a bunch of suits, calling her name over and over, but she's not stopping._

"_Emily Prentiss!"_

_Soon, I start running as her group strolls, Em laughing at something someone said. I don't know what the person said, and for the first time in my life, I don't care. I'm not even curious. I just want her._

"_Emily!" _

_She twitches, enough to show me she heard me, and then she looks around, trying to find where the voice came from._

"_Emily!" I yell, just as she turns to see me._

_Surprise graces her beautiful face, and no small amount of shock. "Reid?"_

_Two suits and a woman in a formal dress cuts in front of me, and I shove my way between the bunch of them. Soon, I am standing in front of Em, and the group she's with. _

_I don't really see them; I only see her._

"_What are you doing here?" she asks._

"_Emily," I say again, and I swallow, hard. My heart is so full it's risen in my chest up into my mouth, and I am finding it hard to talk._

"_One second." She smiles at me, softly, and then turns to her group. "Un momento, per favore."_

_That must've been Italian. I have a brief knowledge of Latin, and the words were similar. The gentlemen nod, and they step aside, allowing us some privacy._

"_First things first," she says, after they leave, and she steps forward and gives me a hug. It's a warm, friendly hug...not at all what I was looking for. _

_I hold on for a few moments, and then I let her go, vowing to myself that I'd never let her go again._

"_How have you been?" she asks._

"_I love you."_

_She blinks. "Whoa."_

_Dammit. I'm messing things up!_

_I correct myself. "In answer to the question, I'm good. I love you, Emily."_

_She has a breathy chuckle and shakes her head. "Reid...what we had, it was nice."_

_I gape at her. It wasn't just nice! Is she insane?!_

_Biting her bottom lip, she continues, "But our lives are different now."_

"_Yes, I agree. My life is different," I begin, and I take a step closer, interfering with her personal space so she can't compartmentalize me into her past. She looks a little uncomfortable, but I don't care. If she doesn't like it...tough._

_I reach for her hands, and they feel cold. "My life has been empty and lonely without you. I can't sleep, I can't think, I barely read._

_"__You may say it was nice, but what we had was more than that," I explain. "It was everything to me. __You changed me for the good, and I need you."_

"_Reid..." she begins, and then drawls off. "You're young."_

"_Please," I snap. "I'm old enough to know what I want—and I want you."_

_This time, she's the one that swallows hard. "Why didn't you say that before I left?"_

"_Because I'm a fool," I explain, my self-disgust at my prior actions rolling over me in waves. "I may be a genius, but I'm a fool, too. I never should've let you go."_

"_Spencer..."_

"_Please, Emily, come home," I beg, and then I shake my head. She wouldn't want me to beg. _

_Those big brown eyes I love so much are filling with tears. "I don't know. It would never work, we-"_

_I don't allow her to say another word. I reach forward, cup her face in my hands. Pouring all the passion, love, and need I have inside me—enough for many lifetimes—I hold her close and kiss her._

"Open your eyes, Genius," she orders, and I'm back in our posh hotel room, where we'd spent a great amount of the night making love.

I wouldn't call it anything else.

I do as she bids. "Yes, Emily?"

She's leaning on her elbow above me, grinning almost as widely as I am. "You're looking far too cocky."

"Perhaps." I close the gap between us. "Although deservedly so."

She nods and lowers her lips to mine. "Deservedly so, my love."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7—The Epilogue**

There are times in a man's life when he realizes he's been blessed. Those times for me have been every day of my life.

My family has been fussing about me, trying to get Great-Grandpa Spencer to eat more and drink more, but I just don't want to. I'm happy being me, doing what I need to do, when I need to do it. I know they think it's for my own good, but it's not. They don't seem to understand that no one tells a ninety-five-year-old what to do.

I'm ninety-five now, and I am certain, beyond a doubt, that I am ready to go.

I've lived a very good life. I married my Emily. After I rescued her from the UN, I brought her home to Quantico. She got her job back and we celebrated. I married her a year later on the best day of my life—October ninth.

I could relive that wedding day every day.

We had two kids, and they had a combined total of seven kids. Those kids went on to multiply, putting forty-three Reids on the planet. Smart little cookies, all of them...with an affinity for languages, too, like their great-grandma.

Emily passed four years ago, and I still miss her every day. I'm living my life—Em would've been very mad if I'd moped after her death, but I miss her. Strange to think I'd had fifty-nine years with her, yet it still was not enough.

Tomorrow would've been our anniversary.

She's still with me...in my heart and in the faces of my children, my children's children, and my children's children's children.

Blessed. I'm truly blessed.

It's after eight, and I'm tired. I'm not as young as I used to be. I think I'm going to bed a little early today...

* * *

A few days later, the newspaper read:

_Dr. Spencer William Reid, also known by his surname, 95, died peacefully in his sleep in his home in Quantico, Virginia, October 9, 2075. Proceeded in death by his wife, Emily Reid (Prentiss), mother, Diana Reid (Palmer), and his father, William Reid. Survived by son, Augustus Reid and his wife, Brittany Reid (Johnson), daughter Rose Winthrop (Reid) and her husband Mike Winthrop, seven grandchildren, and forty-three great-grandchildren, all who love and miss their Grandpa Spencer very much._

_Spencer was born in Las Vegas, Nevada, in 1981, graduated at the age of 12 from high school, and held doctorates in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering._

_Spencer worked for the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Behavioral Analysis Unit for over fifty years, continuing to consult for them even in the last year of his life. He created many training and visualization programs for the FBI and received the J. Edgar Hoover Award for service above and beyond the call of duty._

_"He was an invaluable force, and we are deeply saddened by his passing. The world is a far safer place because of Dr. Reid."—E. Robin Hoarsley, Director, Federal Bureau of Investigation._

_A visitation will be held at Dennis Family Funeral Homes on Friday, October 13, from three to seven p.m. Funeral services will be held on Saturday, October 14, at noon at Good Shepherd Church, with interment at Arlington National Cemetery immediately following._

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_**AN: And that is how I do a death fic! Thank you for reading and responding. Next story is coming up soon. Peace and love, Kricket**_


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